


One Bed

by CatLovePower



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together, or just very best friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower
Summary: Sleeping arrangements, Geraskier style, or five times Geralt and Jaskier were forced to share a bed.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 278





	One Bed

1.

The door slams open and Jaskier walks into the room. He does everything angrily as if he’s trying to make as much noise as possible. He lets his drenched overcoat fall to the floor and steps over it to reach the bed – the only bed.

He lets himself fall on it with a huff and removes his boots, throwing them across the room where they hit the wall with a dull slap; they had been traipsing in the rain and mud for the better part of the day.

Geralt comes in soon after and glares at him.

“I’m not responsible for the weather,” he remarks.

“Don’t play dumb,” Jaskier replies without looking at him. “You know what you did. I’m not talking to you,” he adds as an afterthought.

He passes a hand through his wet hair and shivers slightly despite the lit fireplace. Getting down to his small clothes only takes a few awkward contortions – everything is just so cold and wet and clings to his skin. Then he flops on the bed, lies on his side and bunches the covers around him and over his head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Geralt growls.

“Not talking to you,” Jaskier reminds him from under the covers.

Geralt takes his time removing his armor. He cleans and dries the leather, puts his swords, belt and arm shields on the table. Then he walks to the bed and sits down, eliciting a yelp from Jaskier as the whole thing dips dangerously.

“What the hell, Geralt?”

“I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“Right.”

An uncomfortable silence fills the room, soon broken by new sounds of protest, when Geralt scoops Jaskier up and deposits him closer to the edge of the bed, before lying next to him. It’s a small bed, nowhere large enough for two adult men, all the more when one of them is as buff as the witcher.

“What, no, get off!” Jaskier protests, to no avail.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

The bundle of covers frets for a moment, tossing and muttering about stupid witchers and their brutish ways. If Geralt feels guilty about his actions today, he doesn’t say; after all, it was Jaskier who slipped on the rocks and nearly fell in the water. Geralt could have commented on how the bard was wearing inappropriate footwear, or how he never asked for him to come on a drowner hunt that turned out to be a bust. He didn’t say any of it, and Jaskier glared at him all the way back to the inn.

They settle back to back, both of them tense and silent, thinking murderous thoughts and not saying them out loud. That would have been mean, and neither wanted to cross that line. Their hatred is petty and childish, and it will be forgotten as soon as they both get a good night sleep.

It takes a long time before Jaskier stops shivering, and Geralt stops hating himself for it. But still they don’t turn or move, Geralt above the covers, his golden eyes glistening as he looks at the dying fire, and Jaskier still buried deep under the covers.

It doesn’t get comfortable, not exactly, but they can finally get some rest, while pretending they hate each other, but secretly enjoying the forced proximity.

2.

Geralt all but falls on the bed, as Jaskier drops him unceremoniously. He pants, half kneeling, half lying over Geralt. That’s probably the moment when he should thank the bard for dragging his injured ass all the way to the only bed in the last room at the inn. But instead he focuses on keeping his teeth gritted and not throwing up on his companion.

Jaskier gets back on his feet and pats his uninjured thigh briefly, before heading out again. He comes back with Roach’s saddlebags and empties the contents on the bed, looking for a yellow potion. Geralt takes it from his hands and downs it quickly. It’s probably the third one he took that night – they’ve both lost count at this point.

The poison from the bite is coursing through his veins and making his vision swim. He nearly faceplants when he attempts to sit up.

“Don’t move,” Jaskier groans.

He forces him back down with a light push. That’s how poorly Geralt feels. The wound on his thigh is a gnarly mess of torn flesh and frosty saliva, making his blood seem pink.

“What was that thing?” Jaskier asks, panic creeping back in his voice now that the imminent danger has passed.

They got attacked just outside of town, not even looking for trouble for once. Geralt mumbles something and gestures at the small pouch that contains his sewing kit.

“Right,” Jaskier gulps. Geralt’s hands shake so badly there is no way he’s up for the task. “What do I…?” but the question dies on his lips when Geralt’s head lolls back and he finally loses his fight with unconsciousness.

“Oh bollocks,” Jaskier swears.

He grabs the basin on the nearby table and washes the wound as best he can, trying not to gag in the process. Then he ties some thread on a crooked needle – “Is that a fishing hook? I swear, Geralt, the things I do for you…”

But Geralt doesn’t answer, which is probably for the best.

“Just like mending socks, right?” Jaskier chuckles nervously.

When Geralt finally wakes up, it’s morning again, and his leg still throbs distantly. There is a heavy weight on his other thigh, and when he looks down, he can see Jaskier, half draped over him but still sitting on the floor. That doesn’t look comfortable at all, but he doesn’t have the heart to shake him awake just yet.

3.

At one point, Geralt stops growling so much when the inn only has a very small room with an even smaller bed. They decide that whoever is paying gets the bed, but since sleeping on the floor makes him cranky and Jaskier whiny, they share.

It’s awkward and requires some careful organization, and more stillness than Jaskier seems capable of. Geralt gets an elbow in the flank, and cold feet brushing against his leg.

“Stop moving or I’ll push you out of bed,” Geralt threatens as he tries to trap the squirming bard.

He gets a mouthful of brown hair when Jaskier throws his head back to answer, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Sleep already,” Geralt growls, his voice a low rumble.

“Then don’t be so stiff. Here, just…”

Jaskier turns around entirely and drapes one arm over Geralt’s shoulder, while the other one rests above his head. He moves forward a little until he’s pressed against Geralt’s back, which is a bold move, but once they settle, it does the trick and they both relax slightly.

It’s odd how they fit, all of a sudden. Jaskier isn’t a small man, and he feels sturdy and firm against the witcher. They’re not naked enough for it to be weird, and Geralt decides that he is too tired to care.

 _I need the rest anyway_ , Geralt thinks as he allows himself to be vulnerable for once. _I’m a good cuddler_ , Jaskier thinks with a small smile as he grips his witcher a little tighter.

It turns out to be the best night sleep they get in a long while but they are both too proud and too stupid to mention it.

4.

Geralt has been dragged to another banquet and he hates every second of it. On the other hand, Jaskier is having the time of his life. He’s enjoying his mission as a royal buffoon – “Entertainer, Geralt, I’m a showman, probably the greatest the Continent has ever seen...”

Modesty has never been the bard’s forte.

The damn party is supposed to last two whole days, and the sleeping arrangements were decided before they knew Jaskier was bringing a friend/bodyguard; there is only one bed. Or maybe they knew and they just thought it would be funny to force them to sleep together.

Well the joke’s on them because this is the most lavish, decadent and comfortable bed Geralt has ever sat on, and he is determined to enjoy it. Jaskier seems to think the same thing, as he raves about the plushness of the pillows and the softness of the sheets.

“This is silk, Geralt, do you know how much it must have cost?”

Geralt doesn’t care, and he is asleep as soon as his head touches the bed.

Jaskier takes a little more time to get ready; he’s had so much wine and fun at the party that he is still reeling from it. He pouts, it’s a shame that he is not spending his night here in more charming company. Geralt just snores lightly, and it finally lulls him to sleep.

After that, they both sleep so soundly that they nearly miss breakfast the next morning.

5.

It starts with stiff muscles and a massage offer, on the covers of the narrow bed. This town doesn’t have a proper bath-house, so Geralt begrudgingly accepts, because his back is screaming after the lukewarm bath downstairs.

Soon, Jaskier is running his surprisingly strong hands on his naked back. The knots are slowly unraveling and Geralt melts into it, not even ashamed when he can’t stifle his small content sighs. It’s only practical, he tells himself; he can’t fight with a thrown back. And it was Jaskier’s idea anyway.

The oil is slippery and it’s probably making a mess on the bed, but they’re already getting ripped off by the innkeeper for that ridiculously small room. And Geralt stopped caring about anything when Jaskier’s agile fingers started working on his glutes, as if he was kneading bread.

“Hmm,” Geralt says when he finally stops. He hopes it conveys his gratitude and contentment.

They both sleep under the covers that night – “We wouldn’t want the cold to make you tense and undo everything I just did, right?” Jaskier reasons. It smells like chamomile oil and lavender soap, and also a little bit like home.

+1

When Geralt comes back from the stables where he made sure their horses were taken care of, he can already feel a headache forming, because he can hear a heated conversation before he even passes through the door.

Inside, the innkeeper is looking increasingly worried, while patrons scuttle away. Jaskier stands in the middle of the commotion, with his hands on his hips and an irate look on his face. He seems downright furious, and Geralt quickly steps up to him and puts a placating hand on his shoulder.

“What’s the problem here?”

Strangely enough, his presence seems to reassure everyone, for once, as if they trust him to contain the crazy bard making a fuss.

“You don’t have rooms?” Geralt asks again.

The inn doesn’t look packed at all, but it’s a small town, so maybe they are full for the night. Having to spend one more night outside could explain Jaskier’s fit. They had been camping in damp woods for a week now, and Jaskier was apparently at the end of his rope.

“No, sir. We have rooms, sir,” the innkeeper babbles, visibly sweating.

“Then what?” Geralt barks, and he immediately regrets it because the other man flinches. They certainly don’t need to get thrown out.

“The… he… your…” he stammers, apparently incapable of deciding how to call Jaskier.

“The bard?” Geralt offers as he tries to soften his tone.

He can feel Jaskier’s shoulder tense under his hand. For a brief moment, he wonders if they have been mistaken for a couple, but since he didn’t hear any insults thrown at Jaskier earlier, he rules it out as the source of the problem.

“That stupid, stupid man doesn’t understand that his accommodation offer is unacceptable,” Jaskier says through clenched teeth.

The lack of sleep must be making him delirious because the place doesn’t look half bad – they have settled for far worse in the past without too many complaints from the bard.

“I, I just said we only had double rooms,” the innkeeper explains, avoiding Jaskier’s glare.

Geralt laughs then, surprising everyone, and he says, “We’ll take one.”

He pulls on Jaskier’s doublet and forces him to walk up the stairs, ignoring his protests.

“Jaskier, shut up,” he tiredly tries.

But Jaskier refuses to let it go, arguing that it would be too cold, that he would rather sleep outside. That’s probably a bit excessive, but Geralt can understand the feeling. Being apart would feel weird after sharing for so long. It saves up on wood for the fireplace and overall cost. It’s only logical.

Jaskier makes a face and goes to sit on one bed, his back turned, ready to fall asleep fully clothed and clutching his lute. He only turns around when he hears the scraping sound that suddenly tears through the room.

Geralt looks smug, as he pushes the heavy bed frame without breaking a sweat, until both beds are close enough to pretend there is only one.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post.](https://why-do-i-like-you-ya-dumb-bean.tumblr.com/post/623663278240956416/cobraonthecob-aziraphaleisagender)  
> It was written in a day, but I had a wonderful beta reader ♥.


End file.
